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Basil drained his mug greedily and set it down, winking at the waitress he knew. She turned away. Usually when they wink at her like that, she gets fucked in the bathroom instead of getting a tip. Should I smoke a cigarette? He obviously hadn’t calculated his strength on the ascent. Before you know it, fat Mignot will come crawling up the stairs and grab Basil’s leg like a homegrown dead man from a horror movie. No, we need to move a little more quickly, and Basil tried to turn on the second wind. Uselessly. I’m a hundred percent exhausted. And you can’t buy beer again at the Rabbit, prices have skyrocketed, and you can only touch Delilah’s bronze tits at random – it’s still free, but the authorities are already talking about installing a ticket kiosk on the square. But what is it? And then everything was vulgarized. Some smart guy put a worn-out medical mask on the singer’s holy face. Annoyed, Basil took a crumpled packet out of his pocket.
“Don’t throw cigarette butts, monsieur! There are bins for this, “they warned him.
Oh yes, the local attraction is Papa Lucien. His broom swept all over Montmartre, but never once did it touch Basil’s nose.
“Hey, ugly. Cool little hat…
They walked disconsolately at each other along the avenue of Mists, like two goats on a log across a river, not wanting to give in to each other. Lucien is wearing a really cool beanie. Turkish fez, like an inverted flower pot.
“Don’t talk your teeth out of it,” the janitor snarled. – What are you doing here?” Get back to your cells!”
Basil was delighted. After boring Minho, you can at least talk like a human being, and at the same time find out the latest news. Lucien is the most evil dwarf in the world, but he doesn’t mind having a heart-to-heart chat. The main thing is to find the right approach.
– Do you sweep everything?”
– What else can I do?” To my friend (broomstick) I can’t wait to tickle your nose.
“That’s right. I just decided to light a cigarette, and you’re right there.
“I have a nose for these outrages, and you’re on my bad list, Basil. In general, smoking on the street is prohibited.
“Delilah and I smoked half a pack here last night, and you did it with your mouth like a fish, and your girlfriend didn’t even cry.
– That was yesterday, my friend. And today is today – " and the dwarf waved his broom. “Virus loves smokers.
“Well, well. I don’t see a pile of corpses here.”
“You’ll see.
Basil took a couple of steps back, just in case. She and Papa Lucien are playing a very strange game. The task of the janitor is to knock out a cigarette with a broom, the task of the smoker is to finish it to the filter, counting only on jumps to the side and flexibility of the back and neck. While a dry score in favor of Basil.
“Did you hear that the Frenchman who set fire to the house escaped?” he said, sweeping a pile of red leaves out of his way.
“No,” Basil struck a match and took a drag on his cigarette.
It wasn’t that he didn’t care what was going on around him, he just wanted to smoke. Well, he would throw the butt of his cigarette past the trash can. Then why does the state keep these little men with brooms?
– Well?” Lucien kicked up a cloud of leaves and tried to get closer again.
Uselessly. Basil is a visionary. Even the sparrows know that Papa Lucien wields a broom like a Shaolin monk.
“About five in the morning, a gendarme was shot at in the commune of Amber in the Puy-de-Dom department,” the janitor continued to sneak up. Basil pretended that he could hardly remember what he was talking about.
“In Amber, you say?” Who fired the shot?
“Yes, you know him well! Shall I remind you, my friend?” She’s driving, all dressed up and happy, and he’s blowing a lot of kisses to everyone, “the dwarf’s voice took on a mocking edge. He even began to chuckle into his fist. “Well, Julien. The dance master your sweetheart took to Nice with. And you’re all covered in foam, running after them like an abandoned dog. You still believe in love. Those were good times, monsieur, weren’t they?
Yes, there were good times, but the memory of them can choke on smoke. The dwarf instantly took advantage of the confusion and swung the broom dangerously close to the smoking cigarette. I missed it. Basil is a professional, you can’t miss a shot under any circumstances.
“Julien…” he took another drag, teasing Lucien with his ostentatious nonchalance. – I remember something.” Is this really the Julien who dances?
“Julien, who else would there be?” I’ve warned you a hundred times that dancing with dance masters always ends badly.
– But what happened?”
That eternal question again. Something really does happen around here.
“The usual act of violence by a man against a woman who can’t cook at all,” the dwarf chuckled again.
“And if it’s no joke?”
Papa Lucien sighed.
“They made a lot of noise last night. The neighbors called the gendarmes, only Julien confused them with Peking ducks. Then he set fire to the house. The special operation is still ongoing. It is unclear whether he escaped or is under the rubble.
“What about Camille?”
“She’s not hurt, thank God, she’s waiting for you at the entrance,” and then the janitor managed to knock out Basil’s cigarette and, delighted with such a rare piece of luck, began to say: “That’s it, monsieur. That’s it.
– Camille
Basil recognized her from behind as he approached the house. No matter what happened in her life, she always held herself straight, as if she had a steel rod instead of a spine. The insurance agent carefully covered her bare shoulders with rags of a rabbit fur coat. They sat on benches and complained to each other. Basile slowed his pace, listening to this pleasant conversation, and felt a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.
“I’m good,” Monsieur Crever said, his teeth chattering in the cold. – But your ex-husband is a sadist. How could you live with him, madame?
– About… It was a nightmare! Camille was smiling sadly. “Fortunately, I quickly realized that he is a bear who prefers hibernation to marital duty. Do you know how beautiful I was when I was young, Monsieur Crever?
“Come on, madame! You are still charming!
“Oh, no…” she even started, as if she had burned herself on the shoulder of the person sitting next to her. – All you men are sycophants… let’s be honest, Monsieur Crever…”
– I speak from the bottom of my heart, madame. I’m clean, “the insurance agent protested. – Your beauty is beyond doubt…”
“I’m afraid you can’t fool me. Over the years, I’ve become too wise to fall for such tricks. I know one thing. After all, any memories, insights, sensations, they always remain with us, and beauty fades like any spring flower…
Krever sighed in understanding.
“But Your low self-esteem still scares me a little.
– It doesn’t just scare you… As soon as I see myself in the mirror in the morning, my right side aches.
“Oh… the ancients said that all the bile was in the liver. I urgently recommend that you get insurance against cirrhosis on favorable terms.
A hairy paw suddenly landed on the insurer’s shoulder. The conversation was instantly interrupted. Krever was curled up in his jacket like a snail in a shell. He wanted to dig it out, shake it, and then swallow it, but Basil felt it necessary to remain hungry.
“Go for a walk,” Basil said to him, and he tiptoed off to the side, whistling a silly tune to himself. He was good at it, just a nightingale of some sort.
Camille half-turned, forcing a pathetic smile out of the corner of her mouth. What a sight. Disheveled bangs, eyes and nose red and puffy, and those ripped tights. Her skirt must have been burned in the fire, and there were some animals on her bare knees. Not the same cat Camilla had run away with on that fateful day.
“Hi,” she said, trying to look dignified.
He suddenly found it funny to see his ex sitting there on the bench in such a depressed state, in some rags. Should I offer you some roasted chestnuts?”
He immediately took the cat from her, which purred as it extended its claws into its vest.
“I found out, I found out, fluffy bitch! he laughed, ruffling her rather roughly against her fur. – And what was your life like without me?” And the new owner, I see, did not spoil you much and decided to make a barbecue out of you for the last time?
“Did you hear that?” the woman asked with a sad sigh.
“I heard it.
– All my clothes were burned, documents, purse, I barely saved our Fluff.
– It doesn’t look much like ours.”
– Yes, after castration, everyone gets a little fatter. Camille sniffed and squeezed a tear out of her eyes. Pretty convincing. “I have nowhere to go, Basil,” she added, quite seriously.
His hand twitched to scratch his chin. He hesitated. Camilla guessed what he was thinking and adjusted the rabbit fur on her proud shoulders, visibly nervous. She was uncomfortable playing the role of a stray dog who had finally returned from five years of estrus. But at the same time, she tried to maintain her posture and caught the gaze that roamed over her with dignity.
“Julien probably prefers to spend money only on ballet flats,” he recognized her clothes, given to her during the marriage. – I did a little show-off, I did a good ride, and I also invited you to the carnival samba here the other day. I wonder what she was counting on. Did you want to show that she’s doing great?”
He looked into her eyes, trying to be cold and cruel, but something in him broke, and he realized that he felt sorry for her against his better judgment. But, damn it… It was her own fault! I trusted twitchy, who liked to show off in front of the mirror in someone else’s bra.
– Well, not to Minho, I really must go! Camille couldn’t stand the silence, not taking her eyes away. – He has four completely wild children…”
Basil sat down comfortably on the bench beside him, put his feet up on one of Krever’s yellow suitcases, and sighed. Nice picture. The November sun blinded them for a moment, sparrows chirped in the branches of the bare lilac trees. He suddenly wanted to hug this woman. Complete dryndets. He tried to fight this incredibly strong madness, and those ten seconds of confusion reminded him of the last fight with Didlo. Then Basil hit the fallen opponent with a double knee and earned a disqualification. How many times can you step on the same rake? But now, despite the cold outside, he felt hot. He could feel the hot sweat running down his back, his armpits were sweating, his groin was itching, and his whole body was aching from the ridiculous position on this damn bench so much that he wanted to jump up and stretch. Camille moved a little closer, leaning her head on his elbow. It just didn’t reach my shoulder.
– You’re not angry with me?” – suddenly she began to caress, as well as her cat.
– no. But where is my car?
“It had to be sold. Didn’t Minho tell you?”
– no.
“Well, well. I was afraid you’d take her back…”
They were silent for a moment, still not daring to throw themselves into each other’s arms. Was it all the fault of the cat that was tearing at his bubbling chest with its claws? Nonsense. Nothing had ever stopped him before, not the place, not the witnesses. He remembered making love to Camille in the stalls. Then in The opera was sold out, Hamlet was being performed in a German version, and Basil and Camille had taken the precaution of running away from their noisy wedding to get some privacy. One of the final scenes struck the groom with frankness, and he, who seemed to know nothing about art before, looked at the young bride with a look that even a complete feminist could understand. Then their hot hands touched and clenched, and Camilla smiled back through the white softness of her veil.
“You’re so beautiful,” he growled in her ear, nibbling at her earlobe and earring. He felt like a tiger, a lion, a male gorilla, barely able to control his legitimate desires.
She lifted the hem of her wedding dress, the spotlight briefly illuminating her exposed cleavage… Back then, she had real breasts, and real gold glittered on them.
“That cold frog is kissing him… In the classic version, they don’t have a love scene, “and Camille fixed her excited gaze on the scene where the two lovers were acting out their passion. – And how he sobs, how he sobs…”
Passions were heating up. The audience froze in alarm as Wagner’s depressing music did its job. But for Basil, the spectacle no longer existed. Next to him sat the most beautiful woman in the world, and her chest heaved from his loving gaze, like a coastal wave under the gentle sun. It’s now or never. You’re a man, Basil! Break this world of conventions, everything is illusory, and everything is in your stupid head! It’s just you and her, it’s always been that way, and there’s love between you. Love…
– There is a moment in life when you realize that strength and beauty are in love.
It was just that moment. He and Camille were love. He’s that unstoppable barbarian force, she’s that mind-blowing beauty. Then he simply sat her down on his lap and found what he was looking for under a pile of countless rags.
– What are you doing?” Camille whispered, glancing in horror at her fellow passengers. She didn’t seem to think she would go this far. – We don’t do that…”
– It’s our custom, “he growled again, feeling himself rushing into her against all odds, merging into one sacred whole.
“There are people here…” the young bride seemed to justify herself, hiding her blushing blush under a pale veil.
“People? Basil pretended not to see the audience.
Maybe he really hadn’t noticed anyone at the time, and they hadn’t noticed them, and all that rapturous passion that had been so fleeting that it had ended to loud applause.
The resurrected performers took to the stage and bowed to the right and left, flowers were thrown to them and taken out, and “encore” was shouted, while Basil kept squeezing his young wife in his arms, inhaling the most delicate fragrance of her sweaty back.
“Just crazy,” Camille bit her lips, barely able to control the moans of her orgasm as she applauded along with everyone else.
– No, I just love you…”
Was he now afraid of the one to whom he had once so sincerely confessed his love? No, he was never a coward. Rather, he felt himself losing the protective crust, the roughened growth that had formed beneath the long-healing wound that had so painstakingly risen from the ashes of his former life. My hands felt numb. He stroked the poor cat with difficulty in a kind of terrible prostration, giving up all the remnants of that bitter feeling that was once called love. The wind ruffled her scorched fur, ruffled and watered her already wet eyes, but Fluff, not at all used to the street, purred with happiness. She felt good, and he knew that her mistress would growl just as much if he held her close, kissed her on those wicked lips.… Occasionally, Montmartre residents passing by recognized Camille. She was from the local cabaret scene. One old man, shaking from Parkinson’s, obviously an ardent striptease fan in the past, waved his hat in delight at the meeting.
“Okay, let’s go. Just a little more, and they’ll start putting money under your panties – " he got up first.
– You won’t even give me your hand?’ – What is it? ‘she asked with a timid hope.
– no.
They walked into the entryway, into all the filthy darkness and squalor of his current life. The smell of the entrance hall had never seemed more repulsive to him than it did now. Camille suddenly squealed when she saw a rat running across the path. The cat’s claws dug deeper into Basil’s chest, and he felt pain, a deep aching ache of utter human stupidity, and he wanted to cry.
“It’s just a hole, honey. The real slums of Champigny-sur-Marne! Couldn’t you have found something better after the divorce? You had more money.
“I still have them,” Basil cut her off abruptly, pushing the door open with his foot. Camille was never very tactful. But now that she was back, he was doubly annoyed that his ex-wife was talking about him like a dead man.
“Well, well,” she said sharply, looking around at the mosaic of shabby walls. “Wow, what an ass! Give me a light.”
“Rimbaud fans are worse than cockroaches. Look – ‘he struck a match, pointing up,’ Clara Venus.” They say this is the hand of Arthur himself, who was relieved at this place with Verlaine more than a century ago…
“Oh, it’s very noticeable!
Basile opened the door and tossed the cat carelessly to the floor. Fluff landed on four legs and, just like its owner, grew rooted to the parquet floor in unpleasant surprise. What did they expect?
“This is my den,” he said, introducing them to his humble abode. – Of course, not such a luxurious apartment as we had in The opera, but quite passable.
– It feels like you brought us here to be molested… Do you even have a shower? Camille asked with undisguised horror, taking a shaky step.
He nodded toward the bathroom, where he could see the corner of the chipped, rust-eaten tub.
“Well, well…” and the woman went there, opened the damp plastic curtains. “Nice, nice… This is the place to cut your wrists… Monsieur Crever, it turns out, is aiming for the right place.
– You’re as perceptive as ever.
“There are Russian letters here, I think it’s blood,” she read the inscription on the cracked mirror. “Oh… you always send everyone off so mysteriously, my dear…”
The fact that he’d snapped a couple of years ago didn’t make her feel cold or hot, but he wanted to tell her how much he’d suffered.
“I just cut myself badly,” said Basil.
Camilla dropped her fur coat on the tiles, showing her ex-husband her still-perfect figure of a once-professional dancer. Of course, he missed her and looked at her hungrily. She could feel it all over her skin. Then she bent down a little to unbutton her shoes, just enough for him to see who was on the leash. No, he wasn’t going to let her go until he’d made up for those five years of hell.
– Are you surprised I came to see you?’ – What is it? ‘she asked, turning on the faucet with a grating sound.
“A little.
After all, if the hot water tap turns, the world isn’t so hopeless. But why is he still angry? Had he not forgiven her for running off with a nobody who was probably peeing under himself on the roof for fear that the gendarmes would soon come for him? Damn Julien! Basil had the sinful idea of climbing up on the roof at once and hanging the scoundrel by his balls from the beam.
– Do you remember my size?” Camille gave a series of instructions, standing under a barely splashing stream of water.
He didn’t remember anything. A devilishly attractive woman covered in white foam, like an Aphrodite appearing to the world, was scrubbing her charms with his washcloth.
“Imagine that brute running away from me in my bra!” she went on in that plaintively ordinary way as she adjusted the tap valve. “God, this place is so run down! How can you wash with such cold water?
– I don’t wash.”
“Well, well… Will you buy me some slippers?” I never imagined that I would ask you to buy me slippers.
She was probably still in shock, not realizing what was happening. But Basil spared her and pretended to understand her. Yes, indeed, who knew this would happen? Minho, most likely. He’s the one who found Julien somewhere in the Bois de Boulogne and offered Camille a job as a dance master, and, of course, a double fee. Basil paid for everything afterwards, and I think a couple of lessons were enough to make the top of my head itch. Damned French manners! If a woman dances with you, then she is ready to mate. “C’est la vie,” as Camille liked to say. Over the years, this phrase from her mouth becomes more and more convincing.
– You don’t mind spending a little money on me, do you, honey?” My card melted in the fire, and after all this, should I believe the bankers who claimed that it was gold? How about slippers and a comb?
Basil closed the door noiselessly behind him. He had already scooped up all his savings and stuffed them into his pockets. Not thick, of course… After all, money should be spent on something nice and beautiful. Of course, Camille wasn’t sugar, but he’d loved her once. She might have made a mistake, she might have hurt him, but one day she would repent. And whether you want it or not, you need to be able to forgive her stupid whims and give her a shoulder in time. Yes… every woman is a little girl at heart. He suddenly thought of the prostitute who came to him at night uninvited and confessed her love. What fun it would be if Ellen stumbled into his den tonight. Of course, he would lie down on the couch with a bottle of beer and watch a TV series of two screaming women pulling each other’s hair, and then try to reconcile them just before the end with an obscene offer to discuss everything in bed. This is going to be a great party… He even quickened his pace, almost running down the stone stairs of Montmartre.
“And some more shampoo,” Camille called after him, leaning out the window in her negligee. “Your soap is stupid, honey.
How strange that she should call him cute again. He even found himself smiling. The last time he smiled like that was when he got his first knockout from Didlo. What a hell of a fight that was!
– Don’t forget the cat food… and I really need my iPhone.’ I’m going crazy without Internet, ‘it echoed hauntingly throughout Montmartre, and Basile tried not to make eye contact with the people he passed.
It seemed to him that everyone was making fun of him right now. How to quickly get under your thumb. It is enough to stamp your foot capriciously next to it. Camille has a gift for training.
A small obstacle suddenly appeared on the way, over which you could jump with a run. Basil landed deftly on his haunches. The jump was quite successful.
“I see you’re bouncing with happiness,” the little man grumbled, holding a bucket with a brush in it.
– Why no girlfriend (broomstick)? I didn’t recognize you, you freak. Why do you need a bucket?
“Look at this,” he said, pointing to a sign that had just been affixed to the wall of the old cemetery.
It was an orientation card with a photo – a yellow piece of paper with a red font. These were often displayed all over Paris, competing with advertisements for real estate services and dog grooming.
“Rumor has it that he’s hiding somewhere in our neighborhood,” Papa Lucien chuckled. “You need to keep your eyes open!” And what a reward! I would immediately give up on such money in the Canary Islands and hang there forever.
Basil narrowed his eyes. Five thousand Euros! Now they are quite useful. The money is paid from the charity fund “Help yourself”.
“I’m afraid your friend won’t survive a long separation.”
“Put her in the fire… You’ll have to shake yourself up sometime, won’t you?
– Hardly Julien in the In Paris. A waste of glue.
– In Paris – in not Yeah, but what a handsome guy, huh? and Papa Lucien, with a sort of paternal pride, smoothed out the crumpled face with his palm.
– What’s he going to do?”
– I don’t know. Shooting at police officers, damaging other people’s property… They’ll probably be sent to the red zone to take care of the sick. Now everyone is being sent there for lack of medical personnel, “and the little man coughed into his fist.
– You coughed a little, buddy.” Isn’t it time for you to go to the red zone yourself?
“Oh you…
The abandoned bucket rattled down the stairs for a long time, and Basil ran after it, laughing, and when he caught up with it, he kicked it smartly in front of him. And I don’t know how many more curses Papa Lucien would have shouted if he hadn’t coughed so hard.
Up ahead, the nearest boutiques occupied by the former Napoleon Guard barracks appeared. Basil stopped in front of them, repeating Camille’s endless list to himself. It was an endless stream of ridiculous requests, and of course it had to be curtailed. For example, decide on sanitary pads. Perhaps it will be all right. But you need to buy an iPhone, otherwise she will think that he is saving on it. They are strange women.
Everywhere, the clumsy concoction of paper and glue was eye-popping. Passers-by stopped to discuss the news. Poor Julien, who was hiding on the roof, did not yet know how much he was valued. Even for the capture of the Versailles maniac, the reward amount was less. I wonder who is sponsoring this foundation? Certainly not the gendarme department. Are these the most refined and well-bred people? Basile tore off a leaflet with Julien on it in front of one of them, crumpled it up, and threw it away. Even here – lips with a bow! Ugh! And on The Canaries are warm, damn it! It’s eternal spring, and juicy girls in bikinis frolic on the boards. But what does Camille have to say about it? Yes, to hell with her!